


It's affection, always

by elliceluella



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: also a tiny peek into Foggy's varied sighs, and Matt 'friend-blocker' Murdock, domestic fluff - kinda, it's totally cool for law partners to go grocery shopping together, look at these dorky avocados
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliceluella/pseuds/elliceluella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh my god,” Foggy hisses and points an accusing finger at Matt. “You’ve been friend-blocking me all these years! No wonder Mark and Jenny gave me funny looks when I asked if they wanted to join our study group again!”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“I heard them planning to poach you! They wanted you in their group,” Matt insists, brows arched high but managing to tuck everything else he wants to say into the neat creases that rest between them.</i>
</p><p> In Matt's defense though, Foggy's a great guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's affection, always

“Uh...Matt?” Matt winces at the mix of caution and weariness in Foggy’s voice, then steels himself for the impending disaster as he turns around to face Foggy. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” Disaster or not, Matt would be damned if he doesn’t at _least_ try for light and casual in his attempt to deny and obfuscate, as mangled as those attempts may be. Once again, they fall short by an embarrassing mile. Foggy doesn’t take the bait and glares holes into Matt’s head.

Matt curses himself internally before pasting a megawatt smile on his face, the one that has never failed him, desperately hoping it'll alleviate the situation or at least steer it in a direction that's more in his favor. Still nothing. His ‘oh, you silly paranoid goofball, you’ chuckle ends up landing somewhere between hysterical and ‘help me I’m dying’ instead.

“Oh, right. Marci was just here. Pity she couldn’t stay a little longer to say hi, mentioned something about a prior appointment, I think. Funny coincidence bumping into her at our usual spot, huh?” He ignores how high his voice has gotten and gives a vague shrug when Foggy doesn’t answer. Shoving his hands into his pockets, his fingers run wild tapping out an erratic rhythm. None of this is going according to plan.

Matt’s rich familiarity with Foggy’s sighs lets him know this one means he’s not going to let Matt off easy. _Nice job, Murdock_. He wouldn’t be stuck in aisle three trying to get out of the hole he’s dug himself if he wasn’t so bent on having a perfect Grocery Shopping Saturday and getting rid of Marci before Foggy returned.

The chemical smells from cleaning agents don’t usually bother him all that much, but breathing in shelf after shelf of floor cleaners and laundry detergents for the last seven minutes is beginning to snowball into a headache.

“No, not Marci. I was referring to that... _hissing_  thing you did. Like a...a cat, a very possessive cat who’s besties with Voldemort’s pet snake and who also just told my ex to, in no uncertain terms, keep her grubby mitts to herself." There's even a pause for dramatic effect. Oh, this is really not good. "What the hell was that, Matt?”

Matt’s fingers stop twitching and for a wild moment he briefly wonders if knocking over that tower of bug spray and back-flipping the heck out of the grocery store would be such a bad thing. How long had Foggy been watching? What else had he seen?

“Yes, I also saw your victory grin after Marci huffed off. It was particularly vicious and full of teeth,” Foggy waved his hand in a vague gesture. “You can put your deer-in-the-headlights look away now.”

“H- how long—” Matt stutters. He shakes his head. “Can we do this in another aisle? I think my nose is starting to burn,” he mutters feebly, looking down in a vain attempt to hide his embarrassment from the only person who knows him better than himself.

Foggy sighs again— a long suffering one this time, but he grabs the shopping cart and steers them to the frozen foods aisle. Matt follows behind mutely, half still in shock and half racing to rack up half decent excu— no, decent explanations.

“Start talking,” Foggy demands flatly, his arms folded and fingers tapping slowly.  Matt swallows hard, wishing the heavy silence of Foggy’s disapproval could be pushed down too.

“I’m— it wasn’t intentional, I promise,” he says, voice small and lost.

“So it’s a reflex,”  Foggy says slowly, as if testing the way those words roll off his tongue. “A reflex that’s happened before?” Foggy prods a moment later. Matt shrinks in on himself.

“Um,” Matt says, master of eloquence that he is before worrying his lower lip with his teeth. _Say something_ , his brain screams, helpless to stop the way his eyes dart to and fro aimlessly in a blind (oh, _now_ you decide to be so clever) panic.

Realization dawns, this time in a sharp sigh that’s almost a gasp, one that Matt’s heard countless times since they were roommates, that usually came before winning mock debates.

“Oh my god,” Foggy hisses and points an accusing finger at Matt. “You’ve been friend-blocking me all these years! No wonder Mark and Jenny gave me funny looks when I asked if they wanted to join our study group again!”

“I heard them planning to poach you! They wanted you in _their_ group,” Matt insists, brows arched high but managing to tuck everything else he wants to say into the neat creases that rest between them.

Foggy makes an outraged noise, looks up at the ceiling and briefly raises his hands, bemoaning something that Matt can’t quite make out.

Matt says nothing, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the linoleum floor. They probably look like two dudes having a disagreement over ice cream right now, but Matt could care less.

“Nine days,” Matt says quietly, after Foggy’s silence starts to feel like a hot itch under his skin.

“What?”

“That was how long it took me to say ‘screw it’ to all of Stick’s ‘be a warrior, heir to the Spartans, baddest of the bad-asses’ spiel after I...met you.”

Something in Foggy’s frame softens and Matt almost sags in relief.

“I was afraid, Foggy.” _Still am._ “I didn’t want to be alone.” _Still don’t._ The silence has since shifted: no longer cold and perplexing, but expecting, patient.

Matt opens and closes his mouth several times. Words aren’t the best medium for describing what he feels, not when showing it would be much clearer, easier, but he can’t risk that, risk losing Foggy, after everything they’ve been through. He’s misread physiological signals before, anyway.

For now, words are all he has so he’ll just have to make the best of them. “I’m—” _a sucker for Foggy Nelson_ is what he wants to say, but makes do with “not as independent as you always think I am.”

“Oh Matt,” Foggy sighs, and this one, this one Matt likes. Over the years it has endeared itself to his heart, this sigh that Foggy has used only for Matt and about Matt— half well-worn frustration, half affection, all of it spelling something more than love— and no one else. He has his own customized sigh, he thinks giddily.

“I know it’s wrong but I wanted— want to have you for as long as I can, if you’ll let me.” Matt mumbles the last part out and hates how hot his face feels. He fumbles with his glasses for a bit.

Foggy makes a tiny choked sound and immediately covers it with a cough. Matt angles his head towards Foggy but all he gets is steady, deep breathing that’s slightly forced. Huh.

“Are you sure you want me for my witticisms and overall wonderfulness and not just for shallow reasons like oh, I don’t know, my soft, soft hair, happy voice and sunshiney smell?” The playful lilt in Foggy's question throws Matt for a loop. He chokes on air and Foggy has to pat him on his back for a good thirty seconds.

“What?” He asks, doesn't even care that he's probably doing that gaping fish routine Foggy likes to tease him about.

Foggy chuckles. “You may or may not have mentioned all of that once, in your sleep.”

“I— when?” Matt asks, already cringing before he gets an answer.

“During our second year,” Foggy replies easily. “So, are you saying you have me to thank for not becoming a crusty old ninja that’s anti-every nice thing on this planet?”

Matt nods and blushes harder when Foggy circles fingers around his wrist.

“Nelsons never leave, Matt. We like to overstay our welcome, both in the context of relationships and house parties. You can ask Nana, she’ll tell you about the time Grampa stayed over at the neighbor’s for two whole days after what was supposed to be a ‘casual get-together’.” Foggy’s touch is so warm and gentle Matt has to focus so he doesn’t lose himself in it.

“Also, um, you might want to _maaaybe_ try and un-reflex that friend-block mode of yours? I mean, I appreciate the sentiment behind it, and…” Foggy’s sigh is slightly stuttered, and Matt wonders what Foggy was going to say before he decided to change his mind. “...but it’s juvenile and possessive.”

“Okay.” Matt shuffles closer because Foggy hasn’t let go and he’s not going to let an opportunity to bask in the only real home he’s known since his dad slide.

“C’mere you silly duck,” Foggy says as he spreads his arms. Matt leans in gratefully and burrows his face into Foggy’s neck.

“Mrrgh. Not the duck thing again,” Matt protests with a smile, one he presses into Foggy’s skin.

“Sorry buddy,” Foggy replies with barely concealed cheer. “You’re never getting rid of that label. Not if I can help it.” They stay that way for a while until an old lady coughs loudly. She smiles, shaking her head at them.

Matt clears his throat. “So. Just to clarify. You absolutely _do not_ like it when I do that because it is, and I quote, ‘juvenile and possessive’.”

Foggy nods his head. “Got it in one.” His heartbeat gives the littlest skip though, and his breathing’s shallower.

 _Lie_.

Well, then.

Matt rolls his shoulders and doesn’t bother masking the shameless smirk that makes itself right at home on his face. “Whatever you say, Foggy.”

That smirk widens when Foggy makes a squawk of protest and runs a hand through his hair. A bright burst of green apple fills the air immediately after and Matt inhales deeply, brazenly enjoying himself as he picks apart the notes in that scent, picks Foggy from the shampoo.

“I hate you sometimes, Murdock,” Foggy deadpans, but his fingers tighten slightly around the handlebar and his cheeks are significantly warmer than they were ten seconds ago.

Matt laughs, bright and happy, and playfully drapes one arm over Foggy’s shoulder while he rests his other hand on Foggy’s elbow. Always so warm, always home.

“I love you too, Nelson. Now let’s go stock up on sorbet, I hear they’re having a discount.” He gives Foggy’s elbow a gentle squeeze and bites back a chuckle when Foggy’s heart does something akin to a butterfly’s wings on a sunny day.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Matthew, you precious little shit.
> 
> Title taken from Cigarettes After Sex's "Affection".  
> Come say hi or gush about season 2 (IT IS FINALLY UPON US!!!!!!!! AHHHH!!!) [on tumblr](http://ellicelluella.tumblr.com/) :D


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